When the Mountain Bows
by Diritus
Summary: In the end, Wutai fell to ShinRa's demands. The nation and it's people mourned together, but one man, viewed as a traitor to his homeland, must grieve alone. The guilt is too much for him to bear, and he decides to take a final stand, seeking to save his honor. Rated T for gore and mature themes. Please R&R, I love your feedback. Two-shot.
1. I

_In the end, Wutai fell to ShinRa's demands. Both sides suffered heavy casualties, but the proud nation was no match for ShinRa's elite SOLDIER division. The Mako-infused super soldiers crushed the remaining Wutai forces, ending all hope for the nation to remain free. All they could do was accept defeat and try to hang onto their pride._

"...Are you sure? Is this what you really want?"

"I see no other way out of this, no other way I can escape with some scrap of my pride left in tact." Jian sipped his hot tea as he spoke with his father. Both men sat solemnly at the table in a stiff seiza. Despite the deathly calm manner in which they spoke, the tension in the air coated them like a thick fog. There was a long silence between the two men, each resolving themselves to the events that were about to occur, realizing the severity of Jian's decisions.

"I understand...How long do you have?"

"Long enough to say goodbye."

Jian finished his tea, rising from the family's table. His father rose as well. Though he was a fair deal shorter than his son, Quinyui carried himself with the dignity of a man twice his size. His face was stone set, devoid of emotion save for a sharp gleam in his eyes, an unplacable intensity. Jian took a single step forward, but found that his father was unmoving, standing as a monolith in his path. There was a moment of unmoving tension between the two before Quinyui closed the space between them. He drew his eldest son in a tight hug, turning his face from Jian's to hide the emotion breaking through. "Jian, my boy...No matter what, I want you to know that I am proud of you. You have my blessing, and the blessing of my fathers before me. We will all be watching over you on this day." He struggled to keep his voice level, but it rang strong and true to it's meaning.

Jian wrapped his arms around his father's aging frame, his brows furrowing from strain as he struggled to keep his composure. He would need an iron resolve if he was to go through with this. To break down now would devastate the long hours of meditating on the thought, the careful planning and consideration he had put into his choice. If he fell to his emotions now, he might back down. "Thank you, Father." There were so many words he wanted to tell him, day's worth of praise and thanks, but those three would have to suffice. Any more would only muddle their meaning and weaken his resolve.

The two men broke their embrace and regarded one another a final time. A moment passed where neither moved, simple met each others gaze before Quinyui stepped aside, giving Jian access to the rest of the apartment. Jian gave the slightest nod of his head, a final farewell, before walking past him.

He moved to the kitchenette where his mother stood, looming over the sink, the dishrag wiping down a plate that long since had been wiped clean. Her motions were autonomous to her thoughts, acting as though hypnotized, her gaze a million miles away. Jian knew that she had been listening to the conversation he and his father just had over tea. She knew of his intentions, knew that he was final in his decision.

Jian approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his tall head on her shoulder. She jumped just slightly, dropping the plate and rag back into the soapy depths of the sink. For a small eternity, they just stood there, frozen in that embrace. "I love you," he whispered to his mother, the shining light of his life. Her small body trembled to hear it, beginning to shudder with stifled sobs. Her tears finally fell through, unable to give her son the words that he needed. There were not words to express herself. Her tears were the most honest answer she could offer.

Jian broke from her, cutting off the embrace. He could not comfort her, could not try to soothe away her tears. He could not suffer with her, could not take her pain. It wasn't his place to, not anymore. He had too much riding on his shoulders, too much that needed all of his heart and soul. His father would have to go to her, to kiss away her tears and assure her that it was all for the better, that Jian was doing what was right and just, following his own path.

He moved to his room, his feet seeming to float over the ground, the entire world beginning to feel like a dream. Everything was so surreal, and yet, he found that in this bizarre half-reality, it was much easier to carry out what he knew he must. It felt as though he was drifting above the worry and doubt that would pull him from his decision. Here, his will felt flawless.

He put on his uniform, SOLDIER First Class, standard issue. The pommels were weighty against his shoulders, the stomach plate as constraining as ever. The uniform itself acted as a prison. It always made Jian feel trapped, boxed in and branded with the ShinRa logo. It made him feel cheap, mass produced and plastic.

He looked at the pair of blades that he normally wielded into work, the cold, standard issue blades that bore that damnable logo on their hilt. They were just as cheap as the rest of them, lifeless and loveless. No, he would not be bearing them on this day. Instead, he took up the blades that he knew well. They were of Wutai make. He knew this, had spoken with and shaken the hand of the man that had forged them. They sang with the pride of his homeland. Their tsukas were worn into perfect grips for his hands and his hands alone, and he understood their bodies as well as a lover. He raised the blades and gave a respectful bow to them, honoring his tools, before fastening them to his belt. Today, he wasn't ShinRa, he wasn't SOLDIER. Today, he was Wutai.

As a final touch, he reached into his desk drawer, pulling from it a worn tanto. It was hand made, a gift from some of his men back in Wutai. The knife had a hand carved blade, decorated with an engraving of a phoenix. He had loved it and carried it with him everywhere, making sure to keep it on his person during his field missions. On more than one occasion, it had come in handy, had saved his life at least once. He took the small blade in it's scabbard and slipped it underneath his stomach plate.

He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and released it, casting off more buzzing thoughts of doubt as he did so. His feet carried him from his room to the living area. And it was there he found his younger brother. He was sitting on the couch, eyes cast on the TV, watching the morning news for lack of anything better to do. Little Fu was already twelve years old, just on the cusp of adulthood, only beginning to learn what it meant to be a man. Jian could hope that his decision would act as a good example for him.

Jian moved close to the couch, standing just out of sight as he pondered just what to do. "...Fu," he muttered only loud enough to catch his attention. "can I have a talk with you for a minute?"

The boy turned to him, revealing a face that already looked so much like his own. "Yea, what's up?" The light seemed to fade from his eyes as he absorbed the heavy aura that Jian brought with him. His brother drew close, kneeling in front of him to look into his eyes.

"I want to give you a little advice...I want to share with you what I've learned in these last few years of my life." He swallowed, bedding down the millions of words he had to say, letting only a few trickle forward. "Fu, I want you to grow up into something you can be proud of. Never do anything that you can't live with. Never make any decisions that could make you hate yourself. Always be what you want to be, what you are proud to be. Strive to hold onto your honor, the honor of your family, and the honor of your people. Never forget where we come from, who we are...Stand up for what you believe in, and always fight to see that the right choice is upheld. Be a model to others, set an example for the world...and whatever you do, never forget that your big brother loved you more than anything."

He found that he was able to smile for him...no, because of him. This boy, his brother, was his own second chance. He was a blank slate, one who had the whole world to make his own. Fu could stand up where Jian was forced to fall. Only the years ahead could tell what difference Fu would make, years that Jian would never see, but Jian knew that he had the chance, right now, to point him in the right direction, not only with the words he offered him, but with his actions. He pulled his brother into a hug, burying his face in the smooth curve of his neck.

Fu's eyes were baffled with an utter lack of understanding. He took in his brother's words, returned his embrace, and yet, he couldn't understand what brought his brother to rise to such words. But, it sounded important, and Fu took each syllable to heart. "And I love you, too, Brother."

Silence persisted as the two held each other, swimming in the bond that tied them together. Jian broke away, rising to his feet. They met one another's eyes, Fu searching desperately for answers. When he could find none in his brother's mako-lit orbs, he opened his mouth to ask, but Jian shook his head, quickly leaving the room.

That was it, he had said his final peace. He could stand no more, couldn't bear the weight of being in his home any longer. It urged him too harshly to forget his resolve, to fall back into line and forget his decision. But he couldn't do that. His mind was long since made up, and if he didn't stand up now, he feared that he never would. It was now or never, and never wasn't an option. He had to maintain his pride, to salvage his shattered honor.


	2. II

No turning back now, no returning to his home the way it had been before. For Jian, there was no bright future, no hope for a better tomorrow. It was almost liberating, knowing your own fate. The resolution he had made cleared his mind and let him look retrospectively on his life in a way that he never would have been able to other wise. He could look clearly on events that had come to pass and take stock of the good and the bad.

There was so much he had never been able to do with his life, privately and publicly. He was never able to find real love, never able to get married and start a family of his own. However, looking at the situation he was currently in, that might have been for the better.

Sure, he had his slew of suitors here or there, a few relationships that were stable enough to last a few months. Beyond that, he had a slurry of one-nighters and wild flings. Just like any young man in the military, he would go to town with the boys, get drunk and see what kind of trouble he could get into. He was young, handsome, and army strong, a volatile mix that made him hell for any man that might be competing with him for female attention. He had sewn plenty of wild oats, but he had never really found love. He never had what his mother and father had.

What else did he want to do but never could? There were a number of stupid things, pipedreams and promises made when a bit too drunk to be making promises. Let's see, falconry. That was one. He had always wanted to own a hawk or eagle, just to have one of those great, majestic birds land on his arm. He wanted one day rough it out in the woods for a month, living off of the land and embracing nature and solitude. He wanted to climb the highest mountain in Wutai. He wanted to sneak into the capital and skinny dip in the pool of the Imperial Gardens...hundreds of wants that probably never would have come true anyway.

It all seemed so trivial now. Every bit of it seemed shallow and stupid compared to what he was about to do. None of his desires, even the deeper ones that he held close to his heart, felt like they would carry the importance that this day would. Maybe it was for the better that events would turn out this way? At least this way, he was making a stand. This way, he was following his own advice and standing up for what he believed in, standing up for what was right. His choice might not make a difference in the long run,but for a few glorious specs of time in history, his voice would be heard loud and clear above the masses.

He walked into the building, his expression totally blank. He could feel his heart beginning to pump into overdrive, adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. The surreality that came over him at his home hit him tenfold now. It was impossible to believe, looking at all of the people going about their day, that something so drastic was mere minutes from happening. Look at them, all of them. The patrons and workers in the ShinRa building were humming around like bees in a hive. They walked here or there, their paces fast. Some were happy, some were not, but everyone had somewhere to be. It was just another typical day, and Jian was just another SOLDIER in their midst.

But he wouldn't be, not for long. Jian was now a bomb set, waiting to go off. He had always been that way: infiltrate the area in silence, take the enemy by surprise, detonate and cause as much damage as possible. It had been his modum operandi since his time in the Wutai army, and this time around would be no different.

He entered the elevator, pressing his number along with a drove of others heading here or there. Though he stood well above their heads, the Mako having given him a few inches to spare, he was still nothing more to them than a face in the crowd. Remarkable. Did they not know the danger they were in? Obviously not. How could they know what was about to go down? Then again, it wasn't these people that he had a problem with, not these people that were his targets. They were just low level pencil pushers, cogs in a machine that no one could stop. Sure, there were targets that he was especially gunning for: the plastic-smiled Director that ran the war, the Firsts that had more Wutai blood on them than the rest of SOLDIER combined, any of the Turks that he could get his hands on, but not these people.

Stepping out of the elevator, he embarked on the SOLDIER floor, seeing so many that bore the same uniform he did. They were all the enemy, all the reasoning behind why Wutai had fallen. He floated towards the center of the lounge, keeping his eyes peeled on those that walked by, analyzing potential targets. He thought his heart might burst, a nervous sweat making his hands slick...It was time to detonate.

The first move happened faster than even Jian could believe. One moment, he was standing at the edge of a group of off duty SOLDIERs, listening to them talk without really hearing them. The next moment, his blades were drawn, clenched expertly in his hands, the blade of one sticking straight through the unprotected chest of the Second that stood in front of him. For the longest moment, time seemed to freeze. Not even the SOLDIER who's life was leaving him could properly react through the shock. Everyone around him turned to look at the scene, the other SOLDIERs' eyes went wide, their mouths dropping open. Someone screamed from behind Jian, and then nothing felt surreal anymore. Hard reality hit Jian as he suddenly became very aware of his body and everyone else around him. This was it. It was time to be heard.

He drew his blade from the chest of the Second, the body falling to the ground. With that one dispatched, he stepped over the body and moved on to the others in the group. Most of them were thirds, totally unprepared for an event of this nature. He whipped around them in a flurry, spilling as much blood as he could manage, hopefully killing them in the process.

It was funny to think about...in a way, wasn't he saving them? They were all still just the guard dogs of an evil far greater than any of them. Many of them were forced there in some way or another, recruited by Turks or not having any other options. ShinRa kept people poor unless they got something out of it. Those that weren't drawn in by the Turks personally joined out of desperation or some illusion that SOLDIERs were heroes rather than the beasts that they were. Many hated what they became when they finished their training, those that weren't fooled by the ruse of "SOLDIER honor" or whatever other bullshit they spewed to help morale. It was a way out for them, the only way out they had.

The situation began to escalate. The SOLDIERs that weren't close enough to Jian to be caught in the initial assault were beginning to take up arms. Their instincts kicked in just as quickly as if they were in the field. Soon, Jian found himself tangling at ends with other super elites. There were far more of them than there were of him, and it wasn't long before he began sustaining damage. His arms and legs, even his chest and back began to show the wounds of a man in an uphill battle against a force he knew he was no match for...but that didn't matter. He persisted as long as he could, taking as much blood as he could manage. This was his final mission, his blaze of glory, and he wanted to be sure that he was remembered, that his stand against what was evil was heard by as many that would hear him.

But even he knew when things were getting too bad. Before the adrenaline could wear off, before his body could begin to falter from the growing wounds and expended energy on his attacks, he decided to cut and run. He would not die at the hands of SOLDIER or ShinRa. No, they might have taken the life of his body while he live, but they would not take the life of his soul. There was still one final thing he had to do, one final act.

He ducked through as many hallways and corridors as he could manage, jumping down a few flights of stairs before finally settling on a place. He burst into an empty office, a place for overflow office workers that people would use to sneak away from their duties. Slamming the door behind him, he took the largest bookshelf in the room and set it against the door, easily able to haul the large furniture by himself between the mako and adrenaline in his veins. He pushed as much against the door as he could before deciding that he was as barricaded as he was going to get.

Slowly, he took a seat against the wall, his breathing labored. He grew increasingly aware of the damage he had sustained, the blood that soaked his clothes and dripped from his blades and body. He could feel the air breezing against his muscles in places where the flesh had been severed. The floor where he sat was quickly speckled with his blood. He only regretted that none of the targets he had been hoping for fell victim to his assault, but he did his damage, he gave a final scream that SOLDIER wouldn't soon forget.

And now, it was time to finish what he had set out to do, to save his honor. He was already such a disgrace to his people, viewed as a traitor of Wutai. The Turks circulated vicious rumors about him willingly entering the ranks of SOLDIER, making sure that none there would give him refuge of he tried to escape. They put him in the front lines, forced him to kill his own men. They turned him into a monster who's sole purpose was the destruction of his homeland...and now, Wutai had fallen.

Jian couldn't bear the idea of his homeland falling under ShinRa rule, couldn't help but feel responsible in some way, that he was forced to be one of the men that brought about it's demise. Jian loved his home, loved his people, felt a bond with the land, a national pride that all Wutai felt. It was a unifying force, a force that allowed the nation to stand up to ShinRa for as long as they did. And when the nation fell, they all mourned. Jian lost all respect for himself, being one of the ShinRa monsters that caused this insufferable loss. He felt like dirt beneath the boots of the President...and that's just what he had become.

But he wouldn't let himself die that way, he wouldn't die without his honor. Those deaths, those SOLDIERs he struck down, were an offering to all those that he had wronged...and his final offer, his final showcase of his pride, would be in his own death. He wouldn't die at the hands of ShinRa, but at the hands of a Wutai man, himself.

He began slowly removing his body armor, taking off each layer of ShinRa's mass produced labels. The pommels clattered to the ground. His boots slipped from his feet, and lastly, he removed his stomach plate, retrieving the tanto that he had concealed there. Kneeling, he drew deep breaths, his hands sliding over and over the knife.

After gathering his breath, his resolve returning to calm his beating heart, he drew the blade from the sheath, it's blade gleaming in greeting. Hello, old friend, for the final time. It wouldn't be a fast death. It would be agonizing, as it should be. Each moment of pain would be well spent, proving that he wasn't afraid of death, that it was not a coward's death, but a choice that he made to no longer suffer at the hands of the company.

His final words would fall into empty air, only the heavens above to hear him. "...I will not die a dog cowering before his master's feet...I will die a free man, even if the only freedom I had was in choosing my death." His voice was remarkably calm as he pressed the tip of the blade against the side of his gut.

He took a final breath, his muscle tensing to drive the blade into his body, but paused, eyes flicking to the window. Of course! The window! Being over forty stories up, he never thought that anyone would consider it an option. He saw the black suited figure slide the window open and climb inside, apparently crossing over the ledge from the neighboring office's window. It all made sense now. The Turks were crazy enough to go window hopping four hundred feet up for the sake of a mission. Jian tensed, worried that his death would be compromised, his honor left shattered rather than salvaged.

When the Turk righted himself, facing the rogue SOLDIER, Jian was more than stunned at the face he saw. It was the none other than the head of the Turks...Tseng. Jian's eyes locked onto Tseng's, and they held that gaze on one another, each slowly taking in the events that were going on around them. The connection that formed between them transcended words, transcended anything that thoughts or voices could manage to express. It was a connection of two like spirits, of two that understood a deep grief.

Tseng took in the scene, many pieces of the puzzle falling into place in rapid succession. He recognized the tanto pressed against Jian's stomach, recognized his intentions and rationale. Words weren't needed for him to understand that Jian was a man at his rope's end, a Wutai soldier that lost his honor, and sought to restore it in his death. Slowly, the Turk nodded his head, a gesture that resonated in the silent room.

Jian returned the nod as the Turk drew his gun. It seemed he would be worthy of a kaisakunin after all. He pressed the tanto back against his gut, his grip firm and sure. With a single slow, agonizing motion, Jian drove the blade into his stomach, tearing it open left to right. His face twisted in excruciating pain as he felt his muscles and organ scream in protest, a fresh glaze of blood spilling onto the floor.

His eyes were shut as he tried to get a handle on the lethal pain that flooded him, but he was able to will himself to open them, to turn and meet the Turk's gaze once more. Their eyes met, and they saw one another on an entirely different plane. The office they resided in fell away, the uniforms, the formalities, the orders...nothing mattered. In that silence, they were two Wutai men, standing together as equals, sharing a mutual suffering. They both grieved the demise of their home land, both understood the suffering of the other. For a single moment, their spirits were entwined with one another. Tseng understood the agony that Jian was now in, and Jian understood that Tseng would be the one to end it.

Silently, Tseng stepped towards the kneeling man, eyes never leaving the pained face that looked back with steel resolve. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the man's forehead, holding it there to commemorate the end of suffering before pulling the trigger. That day, Jian didn't die a SOLDIER at the hands of a Turk. He died a Wutai man in the hands of a kindred spirit.

Tseng watched the body fall, kneeling after lowering his weapon. He shut his eyes, honoring the moment of his passing before rising to his feet and pulling out his phone. Pressing the alert button on the side, he spoke into it. "Target Jian Xu has been located and eliminated. Send a body disposal team to office 4308."


End file.
